


Limbo

by TintinnabulousRunes



Series: Panem Forever [13]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, POV Alternating, POV First Person, The Rebellion Failed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25096072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TintinnabulousRunes/pseuds/TintinnabulousRunes
Summary: There is something in the air during the summer of the 91st Hunger Games. Something like change and something like ambition. It starts with the death of a Career during the Bloodbath and things only grow stranger from there.
Series: Panem Forever [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/597205
Comments: 9
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**The 91st Hunger Games**  
**Day 1**

**Midas Raptor**  
**District 1**  
**Victor of the 86th Hunger Games, Mentor of ~~Blush Sweet,~~ Ermine Rose**

Drop by drop, Lynn drips ice water over the sugar cube placed above her little glass of absinthe. The process is like a form of meditation for her. I find watching her do it an equal kind of calming. It's like vicarious meditation. Actual meditation doesn't work on me. Lynx can fuck right off with his incense and lotus position bullshit. I can be angry and upset if I want to.

It's funny, though. Because right now I really should be angry and upset but I don't feel much of anything. Blush is dead. She died in the Bloodbath of all things. Not like another District 1 Victor will change anything for me, Helen didn't, so there is nothing for me to care about.

Lynn finishes pouring the water and stirs the absinthe with the flat spoon. She looks ridiculous like this, sipping absinthe in a fluffy pink sweater and black leather gloves. There are such things as a fashionable texture contrast, but Lynn will never be fashionable. I let out a snorting laugh before I can stop myself. I try to disguise it as a cough. 

"Jealous of my sweater, Midas?" Lynn teases.

Lynn never seems to be even mildly tricked by any of my usual strategies. I never know whether I should be impressed or insulted by it.

"Never."

This is her fourth summer spent in the Capitol, and I swear that Lynn's fashion sense has only gotten worse. Fluffy sweaters in various pastels belong in no self-respecting wardrobe.

A comfortable silence falls back over our little corner. They leave us alone in the Jabber Jay. Cassie and Vincent will occasionally come over to say hello when we arrive but will leave after a drink and a few minutes conversation. They respect our privacy in exchange for our patronage since we have drawn in a new crowd to their mutt arena.

"Hey, Midas," Lynn breaks the silence, "why'd your parents name you that? Isn't it, you know, bad luck?"

"You know the story of King Midas?"

Lynn shrugs and takes a drink before replying, "I think we may have a different version of it in 4."

I wait for a moment for her to start telling it. Lynn instead glances around somewhat nervously. I don't think I've ever seen her nervous outside of her Games. The sudden shift sets me on edge. Has she seen someone?

I look around as well. No. No one we're avoiding has appeared.

"I don't know if this is the right place to tell it." She says with another nervous glance around.

Now I really want to hear it. The prospect of telling a story making Lynn "147" Rayna nervous is honestly ridiculous. She's just being a tease right now. I'll do a bit of begging if that's the game she wants to play today. "Please. You can't just leave me hanging here."

Lynn gives me a reproachful look. "Well, just promise not to repeat it."

I make a show of doing that cross sign they make in District 10.

Lynn fiddles with the snaps of her gloves, down the rest of her absinthe, and leans back in her seat.

Okay, maybe she's not just being a tease. This does seem to genuinely make her nervous. But she's stubborn and I'm certainly not about to stop her.

"Once upon a time, across the sea beyond the wide Gulf, there was a kingdom ruled by the great King Midas. King Midas was a fair king. King Midas was a just king. And King Midas was a greedy king."

Well, she's not wrong, this is a different version. Won't interrupt her though.

"One day, an old man came to the palace of King Midas, seeking shelter from a growing storm. Being fair and just, King Midas fulfilled the duties of guest right, providing for the old man food, drink, bath, and bed. When the morning came, the old man readied to depart. King Midas presented him with a gift of a fine traveling cloak to ward off future winds and rains."

Okay, this part sounds more familiar. King Midas actually gives the old man a pair of calfskin gloves, but a cloak makes sense too.

Lynn glances around the room again. She bows her head slightly and closes her eyes before continuing.

"For his gift, the old man revealed himself to be Hades, lord of the underworld and all its riches and its dead. For his gift in return, Hades offered King Midas a legion of shades, Myrmidons not yet able to cross the River Styx and seeking to gather glory to pay their way.

"King Midas, in his greed, rejected the first gift of Hades and instead asked for a gift of riches, that all he touched be turned to gold. Deeply offended by the rejection of his gift, Hades plotted vengeance against the greedy King Midas. Hades lacked the wrath of his brothers, and his revenge was a simple thing.

"King Midas would get as he asked, everything he touched would turn into gold. Bestowing the gift, which was itself a curse, Hades departed the palace of King Midas."

This is why Lynn hesitated in telling this story and even now looks around for anyone that might have overheard. I've heard that some in District 4 actually worship great spirits whom they give personalities and actions to. The boy from District 4 I allied myself with sometimes would whisper things to himself, asking for guidance from the grey-eyed one or strength from the vulture-lord.

"King Midas first tested his gift on his throne, turning oak and velvet to shining gold. He ran through the palace with the energy and joy of a man half his age. He touched the bannister of the stair and the tapestries hanging on the wall and the fine linens of his own bed. All turned to gold.

"At dinner that evening, King Midas sat at his golden table, holding golden cutlery, wearing golden clothing. Beside him sat his daughter, whom King Midas loved even more than gold. Servants poured the wine and King Midas raised his goblet in a toast to his new gift. When he brought the goblet to his lips, he found the wine within had turned to gold. Every piece of fish, fowl, and fruit the King tried, all turned to gold, and man could not live on gold alone.

"King Midas began to despair. His gift revealed itself to be a curse. He would waste away, unable to enjoy all of his gold. His daughter, for she loved her father dearly, reached out to comfort him. King Midas, in his despair, accepted her reassuring hand. And found she too turned to gold at his touch."

And now is when Midas repents his arrogance and returns the gift to the spirit world to get his daughter back. It's a good fairy tale.

"That night, King Midas was visited by the shade of his daughter, for a human cannot live and be made from gold, yet having no flesh, the funeral pyre could not burn her and allow her to rest. All through the night and the next day, King Midas was haunted by the shade of his daughter and his own despair. As the sun set and Apollo put to stable the horses that pulled the chariot of the sun, King Midas walked to the cliffs outside his palace and looked out at the water. His daughter had loved the view and would see it no more.

"King Midas raised a now golden knife. He slit his throat and plunged himself into the surf below. His blood as gold as the gods' own ichor stained the water at the moment of the setting sun, forever turning to gold the view his daughter held dear, tainting even that sacred memory. His body never burned, King Midas' shade still haunts the sunset waters."

Okay, I can see how my name would be considered bad luck in District 4.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conflation of Hades/Plutus/Pluto is intentional. I've not firmly settled on what makes up the canon of the form of Hellenism practiced in District 4 but it is definitely inspired by pop-culture Greco-Roman with some further deviations based on oral tradition and mistranslations of what few surviving texts remain.


	2. Chapter 2

**The 91st Hunger Games**   
**Day 4**

**Basalt Igneo**   
**District 2**   
**Victor of the 84th Hunger Games, Mentor of ~~Dominic Blue, Scipia Basil~~**

The Jabber Jay is mercifully quiet. There is an irony somewhere in that. All that reaches me is the faint rumble of the streets above and the odd growl from the mutt-pit beyond the wall.

I don't know what to do with myself. The lounge is empty, so there is no one to talk to, but I'm not sure if I even want to talk to anyone. All there has been is pity or indifference or smugness. The whole Pack is dead. We're at the final twelve, on day 4, and the whole Pack is dead.

It's not even from any consistent reason. A lucky shot from D10M in the Bloodbath. An apparent allergic reaction to some mushroom spores that had no effect on anyone else. A neck-breaking fall from climbing a tree. Dehydration from food poisoning. A tree-fall trap set up by D7F. A spider bite.

The couch is sturdy, and I don't have to watch myself when I sit down. Someone added a quilt recently. Maybe Elektra, she sews. The quilt is comfortable, wrapped around my shoulders. I do need to figure out who made it so I can thank them.

It's easier, examining the pattern of fabric than thinking about what has happened. The pattern of interwoven stars is made from small triangles of purple, turquoise, and white. The stitching is silver. It swirls and loops across the faux night sky. One of the stitches is loose. If I began pulling it, I could destroy everything.

There are footsteps, the kind that come from someone used to walking quietly making themselves heard. Glancing up, I see it's Lynn. She gives me a small nod and curls up on the opposite end of the couch.

There are deep pockets in her dress and from one of them, she pulls out a sparkly purple phone that is definitely not hers. 

"Really, you too?"

Digit and Luke are both bad enough about snatching phones.

"She was annoying me." Lynn says, typing in a pin code to unlock the phone. "Weird contents, though. No contacts, just a few recent calls and some gaming apps. But it's fancy for a burner."

It's another distraction if nothing else. "Oh, let me see."

Lynn tosses me the phone. I can catch it easily. Her aim has fully recovered.

Scrolling through the phone's home screen, I can confirm it is weird. There are a couple of puzzle apps and a photo gallery filled with pictures of pastries and a small fluffy dog. One of the pastries has a marzipan mocking jay on it, which is a daring choice. Other than that, nothing is notable. The tracker has been scrambled, so it is a burner phone.

My stomach growls. There is a long moment, then Lynn starts snickering. Something about her laughter sets me off. So, we're both laughing, and everything is horrible and wrong, but here we are anyways.

"So..." Lynn starts between giggles, "we can go eat."

I clench my jaw, trying to regain composure. It doesn't do any good and my chest still shakes.

"That works." I manage, still trying to not burst out into laughter again.

Lynn takes a breath, wiping her good eye with the back of her hand. "Um, there's that place with the curry."

I take a couple of breaths and finally regain composure myself. "The one with the dim lighting and the booths where no one bothers us."

"That's the one," Lynn confirms, standing.

I join her, offering the phone back. We head back upstairs, where there will be a car waiting for us. I ask, "What will you do with the phone?"

"Chuck it in the canal. It's useless as it. If there's anything good, it's hidden too well, which means it's risky to keep."

I want to sigh and tell her that she can't just go around stealing people's phones and throwing them in the water. But her boy, the last of the Pack, died this morning and there are worse ways to cope.

"Remind me never to annoy you, Rayna."

"You never do, Igneo." She says, wrapping her arm around me to tell me she's serious.


	3. Chapter 3

**The 91st Hunger Games**  
**Day 6**

**Ike Meadows**  
**District 12**  
**Victor of the 90th Hunger Games, Mentor of ~~Clay Walden, Rosie Hill~~**

A car waits for me at the front step. I open the door. All I want to do is get back to the Center and scrub myself raw in the hope of feeling just a bit less dirty and used.

I am surprised to see Midas in the back seat. He gives me a lopsided grin that does not reach his eyes and says, "I know a place. There's a shower, and clean clothes, and they don't ask questions. What do you say?"

My alternative is the Center and dealing with a likely very drunk Haymitch. It's not much of a choice. "Sure."

I bundle myself into the car. Midas tells the driver to take us to a place called the Jabber Jay.

We sit in a silence that could almost be considered companionable. Midas stares out the window, the neon lights casting his face in shades of red and orange and blue.

The blue suits him best. The number 1 is blue. Paler than the neon signs, but close enough.

"So," Midas says, breaking the silence, "Do you want me to lie to you, or tell you the truth?"

I don't know what he's talking about and realize I don't really care. "The truth."

Midas nods. "It doesn't get better. You don't get used to it. You'll always want to scrub off all of your skin or pull out your hair or whatever it is that makes you feel just a little less disgusting. There are only two slight consolations I can give you. After day ten, the buyers stop, or at least they always have so far. And, one day, you'll be too old for them. Someone younger and prettier will take your place and you'll finally have some semblance of peace."

I don't know what to say to that. We lapse back into silence.

Maybe I should have picked the lie.

The neon lights begin to fade, replaced by rows of streetlamps. The buildings become smaller as well. Never actually cramped but arranged in a way that seems to purposely evoke that feeling.

The car slows to a stop in front of a building with a hand painted sign, the silver letters reading Jabber Jay. It bothers me because none of those letters are silver. B is light grey, so it isn’t as bad, but the rest don't match at all.

Midas gets out of the car and leads the way inside. The bar looks closed. There's just a bartender and a lone waiter and no guests.

Midas goes up to the bar and orders, "Absinthe, from the back shelf."

The bartender flags down the waiter, who leads us through a side door. From there, we're led down a winding series of halls and stairs. At the end, the waiter leaves us in a room that does indeed hold the promised showers, as well as a pair of cots.

"If you ever wind up here alone," Midas begins, getting my attention, "Or are with someone else new, that's basically the password. Just order an absinthe from the back shelf, and someone will take you back here."

"Thanks."

I get undressed, tossing my clothes on one of the cots, and head over to the showers. I turn the water on. For a while, I just stand there letting myself wallow in the ability to just not think about anything. Then I grab a bar of soap and methodically set to work scrubbing away any lingering traces of lipstick or glitter.

It isn't that long before I scrub myself pink.

I make sure to stop before I scratch up my arms like I did yesterday. Capitol salves have already erased the evidence. Which somehow unnerves me more than the fact I put them there in the first place.

I dry off and find the clothes Midas mentioned. They are all shapeless and soft and in a variety of pale and neutral colors.

After I get dressed, I wait around so I can follow Midas to whatever else there is around here. He winds up leading me to a lounge area.

Moth splays out in an overstuffed armchair. She chats with Lynn, who is stretched out on an equally overstuffed couch and is dressed in a fluffy pink sweater. If I think too hard about why she's here with the rest of us, I'll feel sorry for her, and I don't want to.

"Lynn, quit hogging the couch." Midas whines.

She just raises her middle finger at him and continues discussing different kinds of tea with Moth.

I find an armchair a little distance away and try to make myself comfortable. I can't quite figure out what the Jabber Jay actually is. Upstairs, it's a bar, that's obvious, but the whole crazy underground part doesn't make sense.

There are big windows looking out over an open space. From my seat, I can't see out of the window. There are low murmurs that intermingle with Moth and Lynn's quiet conversation.

It's nice here. I find it disconcerting that's it's nice. But there's a moment's peace that is ever so rare in the Capitol.

"I should never have volunteered. I'm too pretty." Midas says morosely, breaking the peace.

"Really?" Moth asks, and I think it may be rhetorical.

Midas glowers at her. "Please, if this was common knowledge, no one would volunteer."

"That's not true," Lynn counters, "We're warned, and we still volunteer."

A look of horror crosses Midas' face and I think it's the first genuine emotion I've ever seen from him.

"You knew? And you still volunteered. How?"

I can't help but be curious as well. It beats dwelling on my own misery.

"At the point I was far enough along to be warned, I was sixteen and never thought I'd live to turn eighteen. Long term consequences to my actions weren't part of my thought process." She glares at the confused look Midas gives her. "I burned down the fucking Cornucopia. Is that the strategy of someone who's confident? Unlike you, I didn't emerge into my arena thinking I'd get out of it alive. I was certainly going to try, but I thought I'd just die trying."

There is suddenly a commotion that interrupts the possibility of a real argument between them. There are a few distant screams and shouts and a massive buzz as phones and tablets go off. Lynn and Midas exchange a look before they each pull out phones from their pockets. 

Lynn pales and asks, "Are you seeing this?"

Midas gives a silent nod. I get up, left in the dark since I never use the phone that I was given. Midas turns his phone toward me.

In bold letters, a headline reads, "Emergency Bulletin: President Ferrum Shot."

My blood runs cold. I am not sure if I should feel relieved or terribly afraid. I settle for both.

Midas goes wide eyed. "The car is gone."

"Fuck," Lynn hisses, "Mine is, too. Moth?"

"I sent mine away ages ago. I was going to get a ride with you." She answers, outwardly calm but with a strain to her voice.

The President is dead or dying and we're a bunch of District citizens stuck out here in the heart of the Capitol. We're so screwed.


	4. Chapter 4

**The 91st Hunger Games**  
**Day 6**

**Puma Leblanc**  
**District 7, Female Tribute**

The anthem plays. It's early because it hasn't gotten completely dark yet. The seal appears. A portrait does not follow despite a cannon firing earlier in the day.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please take a seat where you are," instructs Gemus Laurel, his normally smooth tone with a funny edge to it.

Odd. There's a log next to me and I take my seat there. I look to Cyprus and he does the same thing across the meadow.

"It is with great sorrow that I must inform you of the death of President Octavian Ferrum, assassinated by an as yet unknown party. Emergency elections are currently underway. Until this crisis is over, do not move more than twenty feet from your current position. The boundary will be marked shortly. May the odds be in Panem's favor."

The seal fades and silence reigns.

The president is dead. That's, uh… Wow. Okay, then.

"Puma, what's going to happen to us?" Cyprus calls over to me, growing panic making his voice rise in pitch. "They're going to kill us, aren't they? They're going to blame the Districts and we're all going to die."

He starts crying and I let him have his little hysterical meltdown. I can tell he's playing it up because he glances in my direction to check if I'm paying attention. When I do look away, he gets quieter.

Becca's little brother does the same thing. Except it's cute when he does it because he's three. It's not cute when Cyprus does it, because he's fourteen.

All but one of us is going to die anyways. I point this out and it renews the hysterical meltdown.

* * *

**Moth Brzezicki**  
**District 7**  
**Victor of the 78th Hunger Games, Mentor of Puma Leblanc**

After no small amount of panic, the four of us wind up piled into the back of Agrippa Karga's car. Once the door is closed, we're off, peeling down little used side streets until a metal grating ahead slides away and we descend into the service tunnels below.

I find the Career Victors to be an acquired taste, rather like coffee, and best in smaller doses. I will never deny the usefulness of their connections, however.

Beside me, I can hear Lynn speaking in a low voice. "Hermes of the Wing'd Sandals, if I have ever made proper sacrifice to you, hear this traveler's plea. Deliver us safely to our refuge and then safely onwards to our homes when this time of crisis ends."

"What is she doing?" Ike asks from my other side.

I shush him, "Praying, leave her be."

"Upon my return to District 4," Lynn continues, head bowed, and hands clutched tightly in her lap, "I will sacrifice to you a string of shining pearls and a fine goose."

Her voice trails off, and if she prays further, I cannot make it out. She prays for us all. I do not know the god of which she speaks, nor any others she may implore, but I hope they are listening to their faithful.

I lost my ability to pray the day I was Reaped. Though, I have the feeling her ability to volunteer and her victory are intrinsically linked to her continued ability to do so.

Careers are a strange bunch.

I feel like I should know more about what to do. I'm the senior Victor here, but I'm post 75th. The older Victors really know what they're doing. They survived the turbulent times. Maybe caused them a bit, too.

Once we get back to the Center, all will be as well as it can be.

The tunnel walls flash by beside us. We'll be headed to the Remake Center. There are access tunnels below it, to let the Stylists and Prep Teams bring in their supplies and equipment more easily. Given how Agrippa is being a life safer, possibly literally, perhaps I should be nicer to that bunch.

I inevitably won't be, but I can consider trying.

The car slows and comes to a gentle halt.

"I know the way from here." Lynn pipes up.

I momentarily begin to question how. But then again, she's the reason we have the lounge at the Jabber Jay to ourselves. So, it's not that weird.

Agrippa nods. "Okay. You all stay safe."

"You too," Lynn tells him.

We all slip out of the car.

The tunnels are spacious, with this small section alone having half a dozen offshoots. The lighting is dim, with the only illumination coming from strips of orange lights tracing paths across the floor. Lynn leads us down the third tunnel on the right, up a short flight of steps, down the fourth tunnel on the left. The tunnel dead-ends.

We better not be lost.

Lynn touches a spot on the wall and an access panel lights up. She punches in a code and a hidden door panel, the same color as the surrounding concrete, slides open. She steps through. Midas stares after her, voicing the question we all have, "How?"

"Belinda showed me once," she calls back. "She told me this one will take us to the training rooms."

"Who's Belinda?" Midas asks, but follows anyways.

Ike and I do the same.

"One of the avoxes. She's normally on cleaning duty so she knows all the connecting tunnels." Lynn answers, reaching up and snagging the bottom rung of a ladder to pull it down.

How did Lynn get information from an avox?

She climbs and all we can do is blindly follow her. At the top of the shaft, she pauses to push a hatch open. Light spills down on us.

We emerge into the training rooms, just as Lynn said we would, in a storage closet packed with training dummies and javelins.

I follow distractedly, possibilities opening up before me. The service tunnels connect the whole of the Capitol in a mycelium-web. Once things calm down, I need to get all the information I can out of Lynn. The heists I could pull off with that kind of access.

We take the elevator to the lobby. There is a loose crowd milling around. I find Daniel and beeline over to him.

"Hey." He wraps an arm around my shoulders. "Glad you're back."

"Was with Midas, Lynn, and Ike. We're all back in one piece. Anyone else that was out?"

"Nah. Einkorn went to get any stragglers upstairs. We're having a meeting here in the lobby. The Arena's gone on lockdown, tributes have been told to stay where they are."

I find myself specifically searching for the older Victors.

There's the 50s crowd; Haymitch, Nick, Jian, Daniel, Emily, and Jasmine are all here. From the 60s, there are Digit, Elektra, and Walton. And Einkorn too, but he's fetching people, not in the crowd.

I wonder who among them were rebels last time. Daniel still has his graphite symbol pocket watch. Which, really, if he didn't want me finding it, he should have hidden it better. 

Someone swears and I can't tell who. It's probably Emily. There's a spreading murmur and a tablet being passed around. It reaches Daniel and me. On the tablet is a still image of the assassin.

That bitch looks just like Katniss Everdeen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm too nice to leave this as a cliffhanger. The follow-up, Ascension, will be posted momentarily. Go check that out.
> 
> Unless you want to torture yourself, then, by all means, wait a while before reading Ascension.
> 
> Edit Note: Removed the reference to Amara, since I stated she was deceased in Bay Laurel. Guess I have to go through and redo my character reference sheets...

**Author's Note:**

> The conflation of Hades/Plutus/Pluto is intentional. I've not firmly settled on what makes up the canon of the form of Hellenism practiced in District 4 but it is definitely inspired by pop-culture Greco-Roman with some further deviations based on oral tradition and mistranslations of what few surviving texts remain.


End file.
